


Migratory Fish

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru didn’t have to say anything. Makoto knew. Always did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Migratory Fish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miaou Jones (miaoujones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/gifts).



> kink meme fill - "wordless love confessions"

_Life is but a dream_ , he once read. He couldn’t remember where he read it — a story book? A song they used to sing? A fuzzy memory in the back of his mind, ever present, a comforting echo of words that never left. Makoto can’t say he minded. Rather, he agreed: life flowed, gently, lightly, like the stream he vaguely recalled being related.

Makoto realised, his days seemed so fleeting, passing him by so easily. He couldn’t quite grasp it, no matter how hard he tried. Fingers phasing through air, curling back into his palms as he reached out. It lingered in his subconscious — something he could easily remember, but with an under-lying bitter tang, reminding him that he couldn’t relive it. He treasured those moments, surely, each minute spent with his family, with his friends, with Haru. Haru. _Haru, Haru, Haru._

The name passed through his lips like a whisper. How easy it melded with his breaths, slow inhales, steady exhales. Makoto never stopped to think, was it natural, how it flowed so effortlessly? It should be, given how they are. He chuckled at the thought. Haru hated his name, never letting Makoto call him “Haruka”, always, always, “Haru”. Maybe it was insignificant, but it felt like an affectionate nickname more than anything.

Sometimes, he wished he could fall back into those lazy days. He knew he couldn’t — wouldn’t. A routine they never quite broke, but laced with something heavy he never understood. Between walking together and drowning in companionable silence, Haru seemed different. It was subtle, barely noticeable, something someone other than Makoto wouldn’t pick up on. It was there, lingering, not quite unnerving, but enough for him to discern. It made things a bit awkward, with how sullen Haru was, but Makoto never asked. He understood. He had his guesses — Haru never coped well with being left.

Haru was a constant presence throughout his life. As far back as he could remember, Haru’s warmth was never terribly far. Seeping through his uniform, on his shoulder, he felt an assuring clasp, a delicate touch that hardly ever left. He held Makoto’s hand, grounded him, guided him, softly allowed him to walk, forward, forward—

"Haru?"

A rhythmic flow of water, continuous, keeping his boat afloat as it drifts down the stream. Haru brought gradual changes, never rushing, easing Makoto in, soothing as he treaded unfamiliar waters. His footsteps melded with Makoto’s pounding heart, a quiet thump of current against the hull. Fingers around his wrist, Haru pulled him towards the pool. The air suddenly felt thin, it was harder to breathe. He wasn’t scared, though; the threat of something lurking under the waters buried deep in his mind. He trusted Haru. Enough to let him lead.

"Sit," Haru said, feet already dipped in the water.

And so he did, curious to where Haru would take him. The feeling wasn’t unwelcome. Makoto knew where this would end, it was something he’d always been able to do. He knew where Haru would take him, knew the intent behind it, but the journey was a novel feeling in itself. Knowing and experiencing are two different things, and Makoto would always marvel at the turns they took. 

Haru tugged on his wrist again, bringing them into the pool. He reveled the cool water on his skin as it parted, enveloping them when Haru interlaced their fingers together. If he looked up, Makoto was sure he’d see Haru smile, those rare smiles that would appear on his face as a slight tug of his lips, the edge of his eyes crinkling ever so slightly— and ah, there it was, the red tint dusting his cheeks when their eyes met. Haru didn’t have to say anything, Makoto knew. Always did. His feelings surging through the pad of his skin, almost a sigh of relief—

_I love you._

———————

Watching his days pass by was like riding on a boat. A change of scenery, a change of pace. Calm, but uncertain. If carried through, surely he’ll have new experiences, perhaps even drift into the sea? Or maybe he already has. After all,  _life, what is it but a dream?_


End file.
